40. Chapter Forty

Elio, the thought-out man he is, has been taking precautions ever since this hatred and lack of confidence toward the Bramantes has come to light. One of those things is forming alliances. And by alliances, he meant taking on more clubs and clientele. We give them protection; we use their space when and if we need it, and we get a cut of profits. Simple shit.

The biggest problem we have right now is trust. So my brothers and I are doing the scouting ourselves, which takes more time than I'd like, but better to be safe rather than sorry.

Me, Rocco, and Antonio—his first run back—walk toward the front doors of the noisy club where two beefy security guys who probably can't fit through the damn door are standing. There isn't a single person in line because this place is upscale and to get in, you pay a hefty entry fee. So, typically people don't wait outside.

I did my homework not only on this place, but the owner, Bernardo Sereno, too. His name is clean, and he's been around for a while. Just kept to himself. That's good. No one has bad shit to say about him. His business is squeaky, so are his bank accounts.

Which only makes me wonder why he wants to get involved with us now. Doesn't seem right. But what do I know? I haven't been scouting in a while.

This part of Arizona isn't one we have any businesses in, but neither do any other families. Moving this way is a smart business idea, though it's further from the border than we'd like, meaning it won't help us much for storage. It isn't the only reason we work with club owners, but it is the main reason. In order for us to accept this deal, the payout will have to be good.

The beefbag on the left raises a brow when we step up to him and don't go through the ropes.

"We're here to meet with Bernardo," I say.

"Name?" he grunts.

I grit my teeth but answer the guy. "Vincenzo Bramante."

He nods, pushing open the door for me.

"Brock will take you to him."

Brock is the other beefbag. He heads in first, pushing through the second set of doors, which lets loud, bassy music float out. Once we're inside, I recognize the song as a classic rock hit. The bar is full of men in expensive suits. The large room is dark with flashing lights coming from around the corner. As we walk deeper, the stage comes into view. It's big, flashy, and with two poles and two dancers. Both girls are healthy. Not too skinny, no bruises, and their clothing is expensive.

So far, so good.

We don't like to meddle in people's personal shit, but we also don't like doing business with women beaters or those who drug their girls to make them compliant.

Brock takes us around the bar and down a narrow hallway and into a small conference room that has large canvas photos of pin-up girls hanging on the walls.

"He'll be right in," Brock says, closing us in.

Me and the guys share a look, spreading out to take different positions in the room. I'm not stupid enough to sit and get comfortable. We don't know this guy and he could be setting us up. He comes into the room a moment later, alone, and smiling at us.

"Have any trouble getting in?" he asks as he steps into the room. He's a smaller guy. Maybe 5'10" with the body of a swimmer. His hair is dark and short, and his eyes a light shade of grey that looks almost unreal.

"No trouble," I say.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks as a woman walks in with a tray. There's a bottle of Van Winkle and four glasses on it. He looks over his shoulder. "Just in time, Wendy."

The woman is tall, blond, and with huge tits. She smiles at him and places the tray on the table. "Let me know if you need anything else," she says, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Bernardo opens the bottle and pours some into a glass. "Anyone?" he asks, looking up at us.

"Sure," I say.

"None for me, thanks. I'm driving," Antonio says with a chuckle.

Rocco shakes his head.

"Suit yourselves." He hands me a glass. "Please, sit."

I sit, and my two guys stand behind me. Bernardo eyes them for a moment, still smiling, and sits with his back to the door.

"So, Bernardo, tell me what you need from the Bramantes."

"Protection," he answers easily.

"From who?" I ask.

"Zachary Canvani."

"How much longer?" I ask as I stare out the window at the dark mountains off in the distance.

"About thirty minutes, boss," Antonio answers.

I was relieved to hear he didn't have permanent damage courtesy of my wife, and even more glad when he said he was ready to come back. Part of me thought he'd skip town. I would have let him.

I pull out my phone to see if I have any new emails. The only thing I hate worse than flying is driving. It's cramped, boring, and the temperature is never right.

There are no new emails, so I shove my phone into my jacket pocket, trying to shake my annoyance with the day. I have no reason to be in a bad mood; I just am. I'm tired and stressed, and it's weighing on me. I haven't spoken with Rafael and have no idea when he plans to return. Maybe he's the one planning to skip town?

The air in the car shifts, and tension coats my skin. I focus my eyes and look at Antonio, who is staring into the rear-view mirror with a frown.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Car's been on our tail for a while."

I look over my shoulder at the black SUV behind us. The windows are too tinted to see inside, but they are close.

"How long?"

"Eleven point six miles."

Antonio's attention to detail is one of the things I appreciate about him most.

"Try to lose them. See what happens."

"You got your seatbelt on?" he asks with a smirk.

I roll my eyes.

Antonio slams on the gas and swerves into the other lane, missing a red caravan by an inch. They honk at us. The black SUV speeds up too. Antonio weaves in and out of a few cars, and I lose sight of the black car for a moment or two, but then they're back.

"Definitely tailing us," I comment, huffing out a breath.

This is the last thing I need to deal with right now.

Antonio does his best to lose them, but their driver is skilled, and they catch up to us no matter what we do. The sun is almost completely down and maybe we'll have some luck losing them in the dark.

"You got the license plate yet?" I ask.

"Searching it now," Rocco says, staring down at his phone. After a moment, he holds it over to show me.

"Motherfucker," I growl.

"What is it?" Antonio asks.

"Canvani," I spit out, running a hand through my hair.

"Why the hell would they mess with us?" Antonio asks.

"Baby Canvani is pissed I have his ex-fiancée."

"Shit," Antonio says with a chuckle. Rocco shakes his head.

"Should have kept it in his pants and maybe she'd still be with him."

As I pull my gun from its holster, I realize I shared personal information with Antonio and Rocco. Something I've never done before. Though, maybe it's because I've never had anything to share. I hadn't thought about them knowing Jordan's relationship with the Canvanis was important, but it seems I was wrong.

I click off my safety and pull another clip from the hidden compartment under my seat, just in case I'll need it. These guys aren't chasing us to chase us. They have a plan, and I bet the plan is to kill. Dario has grown some balls lately, and I am going to enjoy putting the old fuck right back in his place. I keep my eyes on the SUV as we weave through cars.

"Rocco!" I call out as I put my window down. "I'm going for it," I tell him, so he's aware we're going to catch fire for this. These guys aren't going to let me shoot at them and not shoot back.

I empty my clip at the car, taking out a light and cracking the windshield. The rest of the bullets ricochet and dent the body but hit nothing of importance. Despite what the movies show, shooting in a moving and swerving car at another car doing the same thing, isn't easy. And I'm a good fucking shot. When I lean back inside the car to load the new clip in, I spot the gun out of the driver's seat. They shoot and I duck down. Rocco lets off a few rounds. Tires squeal, and the car swerves, sending me sliding against the opposite door.

"Fucking hell!" I shout.

"Sorry, boss," Antonio responds.

The roar of an engine gets louder, and I'm lurched forward as the SUV rams into us. More shots ring out but I don't know who they're coming from at this point.

With a growl, I get back into position, ready to light those fuckers up, when we're rammed so hard the car swerves onto the shoulder and skids on gravel. Antonio jerks the wheel, trying to make up for it, but it sends the car rolling through the air. Metal crunches and glass shatters when we hit the ground. Once. Twice. I'm flipped around at least a dozen times, pain radiating in my shoulder and a sharp ache in my head.

Everything fades away. Everything goes black.